


We Will Rebuild

by BlackWaves



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 14:10:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9660668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackWaves/pseuds/BlackWaves
Summary: Clark and Lexa tackle the issue of cooperation between Skaikru and Grounders.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've been inspired by the new season of the 100, but not in a positive way lol  
> This is most likely just a one-shot. I haven't written anything in a long time, and the show brought back some feels. Just a short story about fighting and trust. 
> 
> I don't write as much as I should, so any advice would be helpful.
> 
> I hope you like it.

The sun had begun to set over Polis leaving the bustling city glowing an incredible orange. Light seemed to be reflecting off every surface. From the top floor of the Polis tower, everything looked beautiful; the city shone brilliantly like a sea of light. The sounds of guards and Tower-workers laughing and arguing on lower floors could be heard through the open windows. It had been a hot day, and the cool temperatures that came with nighttime hadn’t set in yet. Every window and balcony door in the tower was most likely still open and wouldn’t be closed anytime soon unless it began to rain. The voices were a chorus of noise fitting for the relaxing hour or so between the conclusion of a long day, and dinner being served to the famished and grateful. The smells of hand-rolled cigarettes, evening coffee, and delicious food drifted up to the Throne Room along with the noise. 

Clarke picked herself up from the impromptu strategy table and stood on the balcony, taking everything in. It all reminded her of easier times with people she’d eventually lose. She didn’t wish to dwell on sad memories, though. She simply let the good feeling spread through her exhausted body. After a moment she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She could feel the unwavering, piercing gaze of the Commander of the 12 Clans boring into her. She let her mind drift a little longer. She had no idea how to answer the question that had been presented to her: what would it take to properly unite the Skaikru and the Grounders? 

The new alliance was forced and shaky at best. There was no trust. Allowing Skaikru into the coalition was necessary to save them from being wiped out by their enemies at the moment, but one would be foolish to believe that it would be enough to ensure anyone’s safety. It didn’t help that Arkadia was a divided loose cannon. There was no unity within its walls. Anyone was capable of anything, and any truce or ceasefire orders would most likely be violated within days, if not hours. The Sky People had come into this world soft but had hardened from loss, only to be met with a call for peace when their scores hadn’t been settled and they had just begun to understand the importance of war. And the actions of Skaikru, taken when they had a limited understanding of the complex social order of their new world, would not be forgiven easily. Blood must have blood. That was the way things went down here. Something had to happen soon in order to level the playing field. Clarke was terrified that despite the call for peace, some Grounders wouldn’t be willing to resolve anything without blood-shed. Even worse, she had the terrible, sinking feeling that her own people wouldn’t be willing to settle things any other way, either. 

“Clarke…” The soft, steady voice of the Commander called Clarke back from her turbulent thoughts. She turned, leaned against the balcony ledge, and tried to avoid Lexa’s glowing green eyes. 

“I have no idea what we should do, Lexa.” Clarke spoke first before she lost her nerve. The two had been working in the Throne Room all afternoon after an explosive meeting with the leaders of the 12 Clans. It ended with Lexa holding a blade to the throat of an Ambassador who had dared to speak out of turn, confront his Commander, and threaten not only Skaikru but Clarke herself. Lexa was moments away from slicing through his vocal cords so that he could never spew such evil again, and Clarke could see the sureness in her eyes. The Commander wouldn’t have hesitated to do it. But Clarke was tired of seeing people bleed. After advocating on his behalf, Clarke insisted that her and the Commander find a solution to their problem. They had locked themselves in the Throne Room, not to be bothered. Lexa was the one who decided that neither of them could leave before they had come up with some kind of plan. But they had gotten nowhere, and for the first time, Clarke was beginning to embrace the idea that they never would. 

“Clarke-” Lexa walked towards her slowly, eyes taking in all of Clarke, studying her. 

Clarke cut off her Commander again before she could speak. Her voice shook and she could feel the threatening sting of tears forming. “What hope is there for our people to get along if we can’t even do it in here on good terms?” She threw out an arm and gestured to the table spilling over with maps and scrap paper. Lexa stopped at the balcony doors, still silent. “Lexa, say something, please.” 

“May I tell you a story, Clarke?” The Commander joined the Skaikru Ambassador on the balcony and they watched the city in silence for a while. “Do you remember where the food marketplace is located? The one I took you to when you first came to Polis?” Lexa pointed in its general direction. 

Of course Clarke remembered. It was the first time Clarke had seen the Commander interacting with people other than politicians and warriors. She was still in amazement of the amount of unfiltered love Lexa had received. Even more so, she was surprised at how friendly and gentle Lexa had been with the public. It was a marked departure from the stoic, ruthless Commander she had come to know. Lexa knew a lot of her people by name and asked after family members. She wanted updates on children concerning their education and training progress. She settled petty family disputes gracefully and fairly. She gave advice on issues concerning everything from deaths in the family to the most beautiful hidden spot in Polis to show a new love. She helped children with their fighting stances and gave them guidance in perfecting their swordsmanship. Clarke was secretly ashamed of herself for subconsciously reducing Lexa to simply an efficient ruler. The Commander of the 12 Clans was so much more than that. The memory made Clarke smile despite herself. 

“That marketplace,” Lexa continued, “was one of the first places to be built in this city. It is rich in Polis culture. Families have lived there for generations, and that area has the closest link to our city’s politics out of any other. There is history buried in the earth beneath it. Do you understand, Clarke?” 

Clark nodded, slightly confused, but engaged in the history lesson nonetheless. 

“There was an old man that sold the best desserts in the city. His shop was small but always crowded. During the struggle to establish Polis, his place was burned to the ground countless times during raids. And every time it burned down he would rebuild it with his own hands, over and over again. Children would spend their days simply watching him or volunteering to help. He taught them about carpentry and the merits of hard work and discipline. Parents began sending deviant children to him and he would turn them into hardworking citizens.” 

“One day, he was finally killed by the people who kept burning down his shop. It turned out that he had defected from a rebel group that opposed this government. He had changed his identity and lived in hiding, under the assumed safety of the power of the new government. He had tried to make a life for himself and atone for his past. But it had caught up with him. He was killed by the people he once trusted. Burning down his home was their way of telling him that they knew where he was. That he could not hide from them. Do you understand, Clarke?” 

 Clarke nodded again at Lexa, but it seemed the question was more rhetorical. Lexa was lost in her own thoughts, a far-away look in her eyes. She continued her story and Clarke took the rare opportunity to study the Commander while she did. 

“In the months to come, everyone who had learned anything from the old man came together to rebuild his shop. His former students and their children, old and young—everyone who had ever had a conversation with the man and eaten one of his desserts. They put their differences aside to accomplish one goal. There is an unspoken agreement in this city to rebuild that structure every time it falls down, to this day.” 

Lexa finally turned to Clarke. Her eyes were ablaze with excitement and confidence now. “Do you see, Clarke? The Coalition is like that shop. No matter what happens, no matter how many times people try to burn it to the ground, we will rebuild. There will always be people willing to fix what has been broken. Even when we are gone, even if our good intentions lead us astray. No matter what happens. The people we inspire along the way will never forsake our vision. It is the way of our people. There is no need for us to fear.” 

The Commander smiled and looked away, but Clarke could not stop staring. Lexa never ceased to amaze her. Clarke placed her hand over Lexa’s on the banister. “I understand, Lexa.” The tears began to fall now, and Clarke did nothing to stop them. “Mochof, Heda. Thank you.” 

“Sha. Pro, Ambassador.”

Before she knew it, Clarke had wrapped her arms around the Commander. The feeling of relief that spread within her was indescribable. She cried against Lexa’s shoulder, and, not missing a beat, Lexa held onto her tightly. They stood like that for a while, until Clarke’s tears turned into laughter. Finally Clarke pulled away slightly embarrassed. 

But Lexa was ginning hugely. “The mighty Wanheda,” she whispered. Before Clarke could laugh again, Lexa covered the small distance between them and placed her lips on Clarke’s. The kiss was solid and confident. They put every emotion that had been tormenting them over the past few weeks into this one moment, as if using it to reassure themselves that they were still alive. When they broke away, they were both as motivated as they had ever been.  
 “Does this mean we can go and eat now?” Clarke laughed. 

“Of course,” Lexa said. The smile had still not left her face. 

“And for dessert…” Clarke started. 

“I’ll buy you the best pastries Polis has to offer, if you’d fancy an evening walk.” 

“That would be wonderful.”


End file.
